Piece Of Me
by Maniae
Summary: After hearing the news that one of his friends was murdered, Sam and Dean head back to college in order to catch a murderer who seems to have a fetish for collecting human body parts. Though it's not just for kicks, this killer has a deadly plan...
1. Prologue

**Historian's Note:  
**This story takes place during the third season of "Supernatural."

* * *

**PIECE OF ME  
**Written by Maniae

_**Some assembly required…  
**_Sam heads back to Stanford after he hears that news that one of his friends was murdered on campus. Sam and Dean must go undercover to catch the murderer who seems to have a fetish for collecting human body parts. But college life isn't quite like Sam had once remembered.

**PROLOGUE**

She ran.

Heart pounding, blood rushing, and limbs aching; the pretty girl ran fast. The hem of her nightgown was soaked in mud, and splatters of blood stained her silk dress. Panting with fear and strength, the girl scammed into the woods. She winced when fallen tree branches and sharpened rocks sliced into her bare feet. Blood seeped through the newly opened wounds and stained her skin. Despite the pain, the girl carried on. She would not stop, and in spite of her swollen and bloody feet her pace only strengthened.

Every moment when she had the chance the girl would take a brisk glance over her shoulder; just to see if the attacker were still pursuing the chase. She could not see them, but that did not mean that they were not there. Her heart beat was rapid, and sweat poured onto her skin. She cringed. The pain in her lower and upper limbs only increased. She could sense eyes on her. She knew they were here, somewhere; waiting for her. The girl glanced around, but again she could not see anything save the darkened trees and moss. She listened hard to the sounds that surrounded her. The only thing that could be heard was an eerie silence that seemed to chill her blood.

The girl could barely see where she was going. It was so dark, and she had no source of light. The full above was barely any help, as it was near invisible under a layer of thick storm cloud. She did the best she could. The girl used her shaking hands to feel around the darkness. Mostly she felt for trees, and anything else that would enable her to trip or slam into.

In attempt to prevent herself from tripping, the girl hastily tugged on her silk skirt and then pulled it up to a short length just above her grazed knees. The girl darted under hanging tree branches and dashed over roots. Under a large tree, she fell and rolled, and then with all the strength she had left she heaved herself over a rusting iron gate.

As she dived down over the other side she took a one second breather. She clutched an aggravating stitch in her side with one hand, while the other hung freely at her side.

She flew through the cemetery now. The moonlight was talented at highlighting her surrounding's nightmarish setting and the names on the overgrown headstones. Her heart beat was more rapid than ever. A chill ran through her; first it crawled across her skin, then her spine, and eventually it had coursed through her bones. _Please let me live, _she prayed. _Please let me live. I don't want to die, not this way._

The girl scurried past another large and eerie looking tombstone. She tried to keep her eyes focused ahead, though every so often her eyes would trail off in the direction of another intimidating headstone. The girl shook her head. _That's not going to happen to me, _she thought stubbornly, _because I am going to live. _But her stubborn thought had been more of a wish than actual knowledge. She gasped; suddenly someone or something solid made heavy contact with the back of her shins. The girl fell painfully to the moist earth. Mud splattered her face.

Scrambling back on two feet, the girl looked up to find a figure standing over her. Squinting, she tried to make out their face but no such luck. There face was hidden behind a knitted hood. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. The figure did not even flinch. Through the few gaps that made parts of the stranger's face visible, the girl could see his thin lips curve into a sneer.

"Bethany," the stranger scolded her. "Beth, where do you think you're going?"

The girl named Beth widened her eyes; though not due to fear but more relief. She sighed. She had recognized the voice immediately. "It's you," she breathed. She held her hand over her steadying heart. The pace of her breathing had begun to soften. "Thank god."

"What's the matter Beth?" her friend asked, almost sarcastically.

Beth's eyes narrowed. "Someone's trying to kill me. Either that or play some stupid prank on me," she answered in a rasp. "But, but it is okay now. You're here." She was moment away from moving forward, but her friend held out a hand for her to stop. Her brows knitted. "What is it?" she asked him. But her friend said nothing in return.

Beth frowned, and then steadily began to back away. Something wasn't right. She could sense that something was wrong as her friend brought his hands out from the behind his back. She let out another scream when she saw what he was hiding.

The long and sharpened blade of a hunting knife seemed to almost glisten in the hardly there moonlight. His palms fastened around the blade's handle. Beth opened her mouth. She wanted to scream again, but before she had the chance, she felt the burning ache of the knife as it pierced into her stomach. Her pupils enlarged, her eyes began to water, and blood trickled from the two corners of her mouth. She tried to scream but only a soft rasp would come out. But there was no point in screaming; no one would hear her. Everyone was asleep and tucked into their warm beds, whereas she plummeted helplessly to the floor. The blood chilling silence seemed to almost dim her feeble whimpers.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Thanks for the wonderful reviews!

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

A cockroach skidded across the floor of the motel. Sam Winchester did little more than glimpse at it before turning his gaze back to the heavy volume he had been nose-deep in for the last quarter of an hour. He lay, stomach down, on the unmade motel bed. His fingers flipped briskly through the yellowed pages of an old fashioned book. Occasionally he would glance away from his reading to check his wristwatch.

_Where's Dean? _Sam wondered as he glanced at the empty made bed beside his. But he didn't even need to think long for an answer to that question. _Probably with some girl, _Sam concluded. He shook his head in disbelief. _Jeez if the guy thought half as much with his upstairs brain as he did with his downstairs one than he would be a freakin genius. _Hitting on girls in bars, taking them back to either his place or theirs had become something of a tradition for his older brother Dean Winchester. After they finished a hunt, Dean would make his mission to zero in on the nearest available young woman he could find. Unlike his brother, Sam proffered to spend his spare time either reading or researching. Usually his reading would be something enjoyable, these days however his bed time reads consisted of titles such as '_deals and devils'_.

Sam sighed. Frustrated, he slammed the book he had been reading shut and then reached for one of the other heavy volumes on the bed side table. Ever since Dean had made that deal with the crossroads demon Sam had been uses every free moment he had trying to find a way out of it. But so far he had had no luck. Going against what most of the texts had stated and he had decided kill the crossroads demon in attempt. But again, life was not simple; it had not worked. _Well at least someone finally wasted the sordid cow, _Sam thought angrily. Without even opening the new book he tossed it aside. It fell to the floor uselessly. Sam sighed. Dean's due date was getting closer and closer and Sam's mood was getting tenser and tenser.

Despairingly, Sam reached for his laptop. He was getting no where, and fast, with the books and decided it was about time he tried using modern day technology to help him find a way out of a devil's deal.

Sam's ears twitched when he heard the key in the front door. _Dean's home, _Sam thought tiredly. _Looks like he wasn't planning on pulling an all-nighter after all. _Despite his brother's arrival, Sam did not turn around.

Much to Sam's annoyance, Dean leaned over his younger brother to get a closer look at the website he was on. Sam restrained himself from snapping at him. He didn't want to take his bothered mood out on Dean.

"Demons, Demons, Demons," Dean read aloud, mockingly. "Wow! They sure put a lot of thought into _that_ title."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's a demon database, what would you have called it?" He glanced away from the screen to look at his older brother.

Dean thought for a moment. "I don't know. How about…demon database?" he suggested, shrugging sheepishly.

"Oh I see _big _improvement." Grinning broadly, Sam returned back to the screen. He saved the page into his favorites, and then closed the box. If there was anything wroth checking out there he would look over it tomorrow because right now it was about time he caught up on some much needed sleep. He had not been sleeping much lately. He had put his mild case of insomnia down to numerous things; the two main one's being Dean's deal and the new big bad Lilith. Sam fought back the urge to yawn. _I should check my emails before I turn in, _Sam decided. He hadn't checked his emails for months now. Two years ago, when he had first hit the road with Dean, he had kept checking in with his friends from college on a daily basis. Even though their emails would consist of little more than a hello and the usual, it had still given Sam a sense of normality that he had always been looking for. Dean, on the other hand, was a loner and seemed to enjoy it that way. He personally didn't blame his older brother for not getting close with anyone, because the last friend Sam remembered having told the truth to had undeniably freaked out.

"I know what I would have called it now," Dean announced loudly from across the room. He had moved away Sam and had now begun pulling off his biker boots. "Demons 'R' Us. What do you think about the creativity in that title, huh?" "Sam?"

But Sam wasn't exactly listening to Dean, nor did he respond. His eyes were wide. The first email he had just opened had caused his jaw to drop.

"Sammy?" Dean snapped his fingers in Sam's face. Sam did little more than blink.

Sam blinked several times. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing up at Dean. "Did you say something?"

"It was nothing of great importance," Dean replied briskly. He glanced at Sam worryingly. "What's up?"

"It's this…this email from a friend of mine, Jack; he used to attend the same college as me back in California. Sam shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, reading. It just all felt like some kind of incredibly vivid yet horrifying nightmare. No, it was not a dream. A rolled down the side of his face and eventually stained his cheek. Hastily, Sam wiped it away with his bare arm. Sam kept moving his head from one side to the next at a gradual pace. "I can't believe this."

"What does it say?" Dean snapped. He wasn't really angry, but concerned. He made a decisive effort not to look at Sam for more than one second at a time. His younger brother's pained and vexed expression seemed to either cause Dean discomfort, cause him distress, or both.

Sam shook his head for one last time, and then slammed the laptop shut. He briskly stood up, and didn't glance at his brother once. "Pack your things."

"Where're we headed?" Dean raised an eyebrow. Despite been given an order by his younger brother, he had already began throwing a few of his scrunched up shirts into one of the large canvas bags.

Sam did not even need to think of the answer for a few moments, he knew the answer immediately. "Palo Alto," he replied, forbiddingly. He swiftly snatched up the pile of books he had been reading over an hour ago. All of the anxiety he had been feeling about Dean's deal had seemed to be put on hold. Right now they had a new problem. Sam wasn't even sure this problem was necessarily _their _kind of usual problem. But supernatural or not these were Sam's friends and he wanted to help even if it meant going back to the place he swore he would never set foot in again, then so be it.

A crunching sound in the nearby distance caused Sam to snap out of his train of thought. He immediately turned in the direction he had heard the noise come from, and in an ironic and not so uncanny twist, the direction he had just turned in was Dean's.

"Yuck," Dean muttered, irritably. Sam's eyes trailed from Dean's startled and grossed out expression to his hand. His right hand was held high and away from his body. He clasped what looked unerringly like a half-squished cockroach. The dead insect dangled lifelessly from Dean's grasp. "I just stepped on a frigging cockroach."

Sam wrinkled his nose. _Perhaps I should have killed that cockroach when I had the chance, _he thought mockingly. The corners of his mouth twitched. _Ah well he'll live. _

* * *

_The world would soon be little more than a prison made up of bone, flesh, and fear._

_The world was so close yet still it was not firmly secured in his grasp. He wanted it. He wanted to control it, and manipulate it how he pleased. He wished to crush humans, and those other creatures that were so little and inferior in his eyes. Humans; he laughed at the very thought of them. Humans were such pitiful creatures; so consumed with their own emotions and phobias. They were so young, so inexperienced and believed the world was only there for there the simple things that came them either pleasure or punishment. Soon he would show them punishment. Oh yes, that day was so near. He could practically taste their blood and terror now._

_The common demon were little better. Each demon was the same; dominant, self-consumed, and irrational. Each demon has claimed that they are the most powerful, the wisest, and the most skilled but when put to an actual test they all seemed to suffocate. The other creatures, the ones that were not even worth mentioning, were just as pathetic._

_Even though he had never concealed his intense dislike for the human he still found them to be a useful tool at times. Through the millennia he had learned that one could manipulate a human's mind more easily than one could crush an insect. A human, no matter their background, age or supposed knowledge, were all the same and therefore he would use them. _

_Already he could sense the beginning of the change. His plan was running so flawlessly, and he had done nothing not even lift a finger—if he were to have a caporal body of his own that was. Much to his delight it had been a human that had sought him out and pleaded and begged with him for a new world. Well, that human would get its wish. The world was going to change, and for the better in his opinion. The blood would continue to pour, it would not cease—not for a several centuries at least. _

_Even though his plan was running smoothly now, he knew that it was only a matter of time before hunters would turn up. If they did he would see to it that they were ended immediately. Even if they didn't, when the new world was complete he would crush them like the cockroaches they were anyway. _


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Something was wrong. No matter how much he tried, Dean could not shake the nagging feeling that his brother was hiding something from him. He'd asked Sam, at least over a dozen times, what was wrong but he's always received no answer. Clearly something was really wrong if the guy wanted to go back to the location that his girlfriend was murdered at almost three years ago. Sam was keeping mum for a reason, and Dean despised being left in the dark. He would find out what was going on inside that freaky head of his brother's even if he had to force it out of him.

Trying to cure his sullen mood, Dean took a good look at the surroundings that seem whizzed passed him. He kept his eyes on the road for most of the time, though he couldn't help but glance away on occasion. California was beautiful. Even though Dean and his younger brother seemed to be cursed when it came to the place, he could not help but love it. The weather was always fabulous. But no matter how much he adored the state, Dean could not see himself living in the place for a long period of time. The weather and surroundings were great, but it would get boring. Also there were too many negative memories that would keep floating back to him. Dean sighed; but it wasn't a bad sigh. He couldn't see himself settling anywhere, too be honest. His live belonged on the open road.

"You're awfully quiet." Sam glanced at Dean; curiosity seemed to haunt his features.

"Just taking in the surroundings," Dean replied, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

Sam scoffed. "Since when?" he asked dryly. "Dean you hate this place as much as I do."

Dean allowed his jaw to clench. "Yeah well it seemed to be you that wanted to spend the rest of your existence here, college boy." He had always become rather hot tempered when it came to the subject of Sam and running off in the middle of the night to attend college. In some ways Dean had always been jealous, but in other ways he had spend countless sleepless nights worrying about his younger brother. Anything could have happened in those two years, and sure the kid could take care of himself but he had still found himself worrying. Dean had not been the only one; their father had felt the same way.

"That was then." Sam had turned away from Dean. His eyes now faced forward. Unlike Dean, he was not even bothering to look outside the window. Dean knew that going back to Palo Alto was difficult for his brother. It was difficult for Dean too, because he was the one that had to put up with his brother's somber mood. It broke his heart to see Sam upset. He wanted to help Sam, but he did not know how he could. Dean had always thought that he was terrible at comforting people—that was more Sam's thing. Emotions just were not Dean's thing, and every time he tried to say something heartfelt and emotional it always seemed to come out forced like some bad botoxed-up actor that was trying to perform one of them sappy love scenes from day time soaps.

"Whatever." Dean shook his head. He was not in any mood to start another pointless argument with his brother. Particularly when Sam had been in such a shirty mood these last few weeks. _Shirty, _Dean thought wryly. _Who in their right mind uses that lame-as phrase anymore?_

"Here we are." Dean pulled the Impala into one of the vacant parking spaces on the college campus. When he had the chance to glance up at the building he couldn't help but stare in awe. The large building of the main college looked beautiful—and this was coming from a guy who would never be caught dead using the phrase 'beautiful'. But the Spanish inspired building was breathtaking. _Breathtaking? _In disbelief, Dean shook his head. _Jeez I've been spending too much time around Sam. _There was some truth to that; Dean had always known his younger brother to use pansy words like that.

As Sam made his way hesitantly out of the car Dean could have sworn he had heard him mutter "home sweet home" in a tone that made Dean's heart break.

* * *

Sometimes, college could a breath of fresh air and freedom, but at this moment for Sam it felt like the most silent and depressing place on earth. And in moments like this, all his darkest memories came crashing in on him. Sam did not know where he was heading anymore. Oh, he knew that he was headed for one of the numerous dormitories, which he had once shared with an old roommate of his Jack, with Dean by his side. But when it came to his life Sam would always remain lost. He had always told himself, and Dean, that when the Yellow-eyed-demon was finally dealt with, he would head back to college and back to leading a life Dean had always described as "some normal apple-pie-life". But since all hell had literally broken loose, this new big-bad Lilth, and Dean's deal, resuming a normal life did not seem to be listed on the menu.

When they had first arrived, walked through the crowed halls, Sam had felt as if a dark cloud had hung over him. He had never felt more alone or depressed in his life. He had reframed himself from looking around, unlike Dean who was kept staring at the place with his jaw dropped. The corridors were neither sunny nor full of energy like they had once been, but now cold, dark and lonely. Perhaps it was the memories he had kept having of his old-girlfriend, and would-have-been-fiancé, Jessica Moore. Sam fought back the urge to burst into tears. He could not let himself fall apart, not now.

"Crowded," Dean said at his side.

Sam had almost jumped at the sound of his voice. For a moment he had almost completely forgotten that his brother was still there. "It is crowded," Sam agreed. He had wedged his way through a group of giggling young woman, freshmen, which had managed to catch Dean's eye. Sam saw his brother's mood had immediately become lifted and in high spirits. Sam kept his features grim.

Sam reminded his brother in a stern tone, "We're here for business, not pleasure."

Despite Sam's words, Dean did not remove his broad grin. "And what business would that be, huh Sam?" he asked dryly. Now, he had stopped smiling. He stopped in his tracks all together and had, through force, pushed Sam aside. "You're hiding something from me," he told him gravely. "You may have your reasons, and quite frankly I don't care. You've been in a bad mood for the last few weeks, ever since Hendrickson, the officer and that virgin chick Nancy had died. I get why you're upset and angry with their death, and I get why you're acting the exact same way around here." "I've been tip toeing around you for weeks, but now it comes to an end. You read something in that email, something that made your jaw drop. And now you're describing it as 'business' which means you're _going _to tell me what's going on."

_Wow, _Sam thought. He raised an eyebrow. He gazed at Dean; though not angry but merely surprised. He had forgotten how much Dean and their father had been alike; both were stubborn, blunt, and both despised secrets and being left in the dark. _And not to mention both have, so stupidly, sold their souls to a demon_, Sam silently added.

"Alright," Sam agreed—not like he had much of a choice. "I'll tell you what's going on." "Truthfully I don't know if this is one of our normal gigs. One of my friends, Zack, was murdered. I don't know what happened exactly but his corpse, what was left of it, was found in the bushes near the campus car park." That was all Sam knew; as that was all Jack had typed in the email. Of course, now that he and Dean were here they could find out more—not only from other students, but by looking through both the police and autopsy files. Sam did not know if Steven had been killed by one of their usual playmates, but he had been murdered and which by the expression on Dean's face was good enough for them.

"Zack; as in the same Zack from St Louis? And the same Zack that was framed for the murder of his girlfriend, by that S.O.B shape shifter?"

Sam nodded in response. Dean had never attempted to hide his serious dislike for Shape shifters; particularly since the same one had framed him for murder as well. If it weren't for the seriousness of what was happening Sam would have smiled, heck maybe he would have even laughed.

"I liked him—well after I found out he wasn't some fruit-loop that bound, gagged and beat his girlfriends to death for kicks." Dean flinched. "What was left of it" he echoed, clearly mortified. "Jeez that doesn't sound good does it?" "Alright we should check it out. We'll start with your buddy Jack, ha Zack and Jack…and so not the point, and then move on the crime scene…"

"That's it!?" Sam asked, surprised and dazed.

"Well I was hoping to get more out until you so _nicely _decided to talk over me…but yeah that's about it." "We'll check out the crime scene, see if there were any witnesses and if so talk to them, and have a glimpse at those police and autopsy files. All legally done of course," Dean briskly added, along with a smirk.

Sam gave his brother a genuine, sarcastic free, smile. It was the first time he had caught himself smiling in a long time. He felt so much appreciation for his brother. He would never tell Dean that, though, because the guy would just laugh it off or make some comment about either 'chick flick moments', 'pansy stuff', or most likely both. _Heck he has done in the past._

Sam felt a shiver crawl its way up his spine, but that wasn't the only thing he felt. A young man, who had been rushing down the hall with a stack of books in his hands, had tried to hastily wedge himself through the small gap between Sam and Dean. Instead of successfully pulling his way through he had tripped on one of Sam's untied shoelaces and fell with a thud to the marble flooring. Apologetically, Sam swiftly picked up the heavy volumes that, after flying out of the young man's hands, had scattered across the floor.

"Sorry," Sam said. And he really was. He helped the young man to his feet.

The young man ran a pale finger through his mousy brown hair. "I—it's o—okay," he replied in a stutter.

Giving the young man a small smile, and without even looking at the titles, he handed him his books. "These floors can be slippery," Sam informed him. "I found myself tripping a lot, especially when I was late for class."

The young man returned the smile, though to Sam it looked rather forced, and then hurried off down the hall.

"Someone you know?" Dean asked his brother; who was still staring off after the young man.

"No," Sam honestly replied. "He must be a freshman." After the young man was well out of eye shot, he did not give him a second thought. He and his brother had some serious work to do.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews, the favorites, and anyone who has stuck with the story so far. This chapter is a long one, and it was going to be longer but I was forced to chop it in half. It's rather difficult, this story. Just like an episode it's leading up to something, whereas my other story dove head first into the main plot in the like the second chapter. I hope you'll bear with me. And I hope it's been okay so far. I've been adding parts from the demon's thoughts to keep the chapters interesting and to keep the story heading in the direction that I want it to. Alright I'm rambling. I have to let you get back to the story. Don't listen to this crazy old… teenager's waffle and just enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

_For three centuries his demonic essence had been trapped, bound by a dozen demon hunters so that he would not be able to wreak chaos anymore. But a lot they had known. Three centuries ago thought by trapping him within the gates of a hallowed ground would keep him caged. But the hunters had been fools, for they had thought that years later the church would be torn down and a school would be built. At last, all he needed was a corporal body and then he would be free. _

_Within the grimy and haunted walls of the college's boiler room, Valentine's mind whispered to life. The feeble sound of dripping water had awoken him from his deep sleep. The demon, Valentine, was less than a ghost—he was nothing more than demonic vapor. He could not possess people, only stare through his hollow and deadened eyes at the miserable sight he was forced to witness day in and day out. If he could of, the demon would have killed himself long before now. There was nothing left to see, nothing to left to hear. The world had become such a lonely place. _

_Valentine drifted further along the sullied stone walls, and toward the padlocked double steel doors. The demon was unable to move any further. He could not leave the room, as he did not have hands made of solid flesh that would allow him to open the doors. Even if the doors had rusted, crumbled, he would not be able to leave the grounds. There may be a new building, but the grounds had and always will remain holy. _

_There was nothing left anymore and nothing new. For three hundred years he had seen the world change. He had witnessed the walls of the church being burned down, the school being built and soon the silence that had hung in the air for two and a half centuries had been stripped away. Now, all he could hear was the annoying whims of college students. _

_When the school had first been built and building had been overrun with humans, the sound of voices had somewhat been a precious gift, a novelty. Before his bones had turned to dust, Valentine had been surrounded by others; those who served him willingly, and those who had been forced. After being trapped, the demon had been forced to spend the next two and half centuries alone. But the novelty of having human energy constantly around him had worn off quickly. Even free, Valentine could drain the life from humans not only by feeding from their essence but by using his hands to crush their tiny bones into dust. _

_Being confined to place filled with little, if not no, beauty was a fate worse than death. Those hunters that had confined Valentine and caged him; he knew were long dead, but his lust for madness and bloodshed had not. He would baptize the world in the blood of his victims. He would force the humans to witness the world change from simple to unbearable; just as they had done to him. _

* * *

Dean made sure that the coast was completely clear before ducking under the security tape. He reached into his leather jacket pocket and gingerly pulled out his favorite pearl-handled hand gun. He kept it close to his side, his finger pressed down lightly on the trigger. It was very rare that a killer would retreat back to the scene of the crime but he had to be certain that he was safe. Besides, he hated being without a weapon, gun or knife, it never felt right especially in his line of work. Dean edged along the building's outer wall, and kept a close eye out for so much as a shadow or the rustling of the trees that seemed to surround the place. He was careful not to touch anything; the crime scene investigators had already been but if someone were to come back and give the place another once over he could not risk his prints showing up. _Especially since the cops and demons think I'm dead…again. _

He emerged into the car park; the place where the cops had found the mutilated body. Dean tried not to think about _who _the victim had been; it only made his job harder. He had convinced Sam, argued with him, to stay with his friend Jack after they had paid him a visit, hours before. Even though Sam had hesitated at first, in the end the young Winchester had agreed and stayed to comfort his friend. Dean did not really know what Sam was going to do or say to make his grieving friends feel better. But he supposed that was what always happened in the case of a death; no one ever knew what to do. Dean sighed. When he emerged onto the crime scene his first thought had been he was glad that Sam had agreed to stay behind. Dean knew that his younger brother was finding it difficult, if not impossible, to recover from the deaths of Hendrickson, Nancy, and the other officers that had died that night. Also he knew that his own upcoming deals were not making it any easier for the kid. But the last thing that Sam needed right now was to visit the crime scene of one of his friend's murders.

_Sick:_ was Dean's first thought when he found the dried splatters of blood that seemed to cover the entire gravel surface. He glanced from the blood to the chalk outlines that indicated where numerous parts of the victim's body were discovered. _People are crazy, _he thought while edging around the outlines. Though he knew it would disappoint his brother greatly, Dean knew that whoever the killer was defiantly human. Perhaps it made it easier for Sam to pinpoint the murder on an 'it' rather than an actual human being. If the murderer were in fact a demon, werewolf, vampire or some other evil and grizzly predator than Sam could take his revenge rather than allow this police to deal with it. Dean hated knowing that he was going to have to break the news to him, but someone had to. He couldn't let the kid go chasing after a human being because no matter how much Dean did not want to admit it; it wasn't right.

"Just as I suspected," Dean muttered. "Our buddy wasn't killed here." He was right; whoever had done the killing had moved the body. This may have been the place where the police had discovered the numerous parts of the corpse but it wasn't where the murder itself had played out. There were no signs of a struggle anywhere; just numerous patches of dried blood. And judging by the state the body had been in there would have had to of been blood than what he saw now. Dean let out a heavy sigh. _Nothing's ever easy, _he thought and then shook his head. _Now we gotta work over time._

* * *

"It means a lot that you're here."

Sam glanced up just to time to see his friend, Jack, push his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. The young man looked a wreak; their were dark circles under his eyes, his short black hair was tangled, his skin had a grayish ting about it, and the black t-shirt and denim jacket he was wearing seemed to hand off his frame. _Yeah depression will do that to you, _Sam thought along with a sigh.

"Haven't gotten much sleep, huh?" Sam asked as he handed Jack another box of tissues. Jack had a tissue under his eyes but still responded in the nod of his head.

"It's not just due to the death," Sam other friend Rebecca, who had been Zack's sister, pointed out. "No one around here is getting much sleep. They're all afraid that…" Her voice trailed off, as did her eyes. She looked away from Sam, and instead starting twisting her fingers around her straight blonde hair. "The killer is still out there. God, it's like living some b-grade horror movie or something. You sure the killer isn't…you know…" Again she had trailed off. But instead of pausing to cry, she gave Sam an expression. He knew what she meant immediately; she wanted to know whether the human was a human or something else.

"We don't know," Sam answered. He tried his best not to look at Jack. Rebecca may know about his true profession, but none of his other friends did and Sam wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted was people to think he was some kind of freak, especially if those people were his friends. "I'm sorry to ask, you said that Zack was the first body the police found?"

Rebecca blew her nose on the one of the tissues Jack had offered her. "Yeah," she replied in croaky voice.

Sam felt his heart break for her. He knew how difficult this must be for her; losing a loved one. She had Zack had been so close. Sam could not imagine what he would do if Dean were to die. _But he is going to die. He's going to go to leave in a few months and go to… _Sam shook his head. He did not want to think about Dean's deal, least of all now, at a time when he so desperately wanted to break down in tears already. He was forcing himself to remain strong. He couldn't stop whatever was behind these gruesome murders by crying on them. _I have to be strong, _Sam told himself, over again. _I have to be strong. _

"You mentioned that there was another murder?" Sam hated to ask but he had know.

After drawing her long knitted cardigan in closer to her chest she gave him another brief nod. "Yes. I don't know much about. The police are trying to keep it all quiet, but I heard that a girl's body was found a couple of nights ago. I don't know what her name was or…"

"Bethany Smitt."

Every turned around to see Dean walking casually into the room. When he slammed the dorm room shut behind him nearly every one jumped. Sam threw Dean a startled expression, though it turned to annoyed expression only seconds later. He knew Dean had crept up on him on purpose, and Sam silently promised that he would get him back later. Dean had a broad grin on his face. He was clearly delighted with the effect his entrance had made on every one else in the room.

"Bethany Smitt?" Sam echoed.

"Our very own Jack the Ripper's second victim," Dean answered grimly. "No offense meant," he added briskly, glancing at Jack; who leaned against the wall with his hands crossed firmly against his chest. Dean took a seat next to Rebecca on the two seated couch. Sam noticed Rebecca shift slowly away from Dean. The young woman had drawn her cardigan in closer, and eyed Dean with caution. Even though it had been a shape shifter acting out as Dean when he had bound, gagged and tortured her, Sam could sense that his friend was not entirely comfortable with Dean's presence. Clearly Dean could sense it too, because he tossed her a reassuring smile. Rebecca still seemed on edge but the grin had somewhat calmed her nervousness.

After noticing that everyone else in the room was staring in his direction Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He gave everyone one finale and slight grin before continuing. "Bethany was a freshman, quite the loner…and not bad looking…of course that was before she had been gutted and her body was hacked into pieces." Jack made a squeamish sound when those last few words had been uttered. Dean chose it ignore him and continued. "She had no enemies, none are listed anyway. Bethany spent most of her time studying in the library; hence the loner part. When the college janitor found her body she was wearing a nightgown, so my guess is some one chased her from her room. Oh, and get this: the body was found in a graveyard."

Everyone expect Dean merely shrugged. "This school was built on a cemetery," Sam informed. He had known this because before he had even set foot in the college he read up on it. One of the reasons the reasons had chosen the college was because it had been built the grounds of a three hundred year old cemetery. Due to the grounds being blessed it made it difficult for demons or malevolent spirits to enter.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No wonder people are killing people around here," he muttered, though Sam heard him.

"How the heck do you know all this stuff?" Jack asked Dean. He eyed him suspiciously.

Rebecca nudged Dean gently in the arm. "I wouldn't use the detective line if I were you," she whispered. "It didn't work for me, remember?"

"All too well," Dean muttered back. "I'm a reporter," he answered after hesitation. "I'm writing an…article…thingy on this case. It's one of the reasons why Sam and I headed all the way out here. That and my brother and I wanted to give you our condolences."

Jack looked more convinced, however his arms remained crossed and his frown had not disappeared. Sam thought that Jack's behavior was off. This was the first time he had ever met Dean, and yet the guy treated him like Dean was his sworn enemy. It did not make sense. Though perhaps Jack's frosty attitude towards Dean was because in Jack's mind Dean had taken Sam away from them. Sam had explained, earlier that day, that he had needed to take time after Jessica's death to grieve. He had also explained that coming back had been one of the most, if not most, difficult thing he had ever done. And it was.

"Alright," Dean announced. He stood up, and made his way briskly over to Sam. He leaned into Sam and muttered, "I'm going to go check out the coroners report, see what I can find out. If you want to…"

"I'm not staying," Sam replied. He tossed one last look in the Jack's direction. Just has he had suspected the guy was still scowling. _Some things never change. _"I want to make myself useful. I'll go with you."

Sam told Rebecca and Jack that he was going to go with Dean and check out the nearest motel. Because she knew the truth about what he and his brother did for a living, Sam knew that Rebecca knew exactly what they were going to do. She gave him a nod, followed by a wink. Jack merely shrugged. Sam gave him a smile; though it was rather forced.

"You know what?" Sam appeared at Dean's side. "You go check out the morgue. I'll take a look around the campus and just check to see if there are no other disturbances tonight."

Dean's brows immediately knitted. "I don't like that idea Sam," he said flatly. "A: someone could see you, and B: there is a frigging raving psycho on the loose that hacks up its victims for kicks. I don't want you out there, not until we now exactly what who or what we're dealing with."

The corners of Sam's mouth curved into a smile. "I'm thankful for the concern Dean, but I can take care of myself. Besides A: I used to go to this school, if you don't remember. I know most of the professors and some of the other members of staff, and assuming they haven't resigned or been sacked they won't question me hanging around. You on the other hand, well you're a wanted serial killer if you don't remember. Considering the circumstances security is going to be beefed up. It will look mighty suspicious if they catch you wondering around campus. I don't want you thrown back in jail. And B: there _is _raving psycho on the loose which is exactly why we need to make sure no one else gets killed."

Dean sighed. "Sam, I know you can look after yourself but isn't like we have the colt with us anymore. Thanks to that bitch Bela," he added angrily. His facial expression had turned instantly sour when he had mentioned Bela's name. Dean hated her—no he loathed her with a passion—and Sam saw no reason why he shouldn't.

"I'll be fine," Sam reassured him. He gave Dean a gentle nudge on the shoulder. "Just go do your thing and let me do mine. If I get into any trouble I'll give you a call."

"Fine," Dean said. He didn't seem completely comfortable with the notion of Sam going off by himself, but it was no use arguing over it. Dean and Sam had there many differences, but both were damn stubborn. He arched an eyebrow. "And what do you mean I'll get thrown in jail? What am I that stupid…no, don't answer that." "If I happen to get thrown in jail you know I'll just break out again. It may take a little longer than last time, but I'll get there in a week…or two or three."

Sam gave his brother one last grin, a weak one, and then watched him walk off in the other direction. _Not if the demons come to collect your soul first, _Sam silently retorted.


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Dean checked the darkened morgue halls one last time. Not because he had heard a noise—only an eerie silence seemed to fill the deadened air—but because he had to be absolutely positive that when he round the corner he would not run into a doctor, member of the staff or even a cleaner. Before arrival, Dean had snatched a doctor's coat from the trunk of his car, along with a stolen id tag that was now pinned on the material that covered his chest. He disliked wearing the bulky white jackets, but unfortunately for him he had to. If someone were to find him wondering the halls he would have a much harder time explaining who and why he was there without the uniform rather than with one.

Even though it went along with the job, he didn't like morgues. He was certain that it wasn't just him, but they seemed to have a creepy vibe about them. Dean felt comfortable in cemeteries, even at night, so he knew that it wasn't the dead body part that freaked him out. It was something else. _And besides knowing that there's a killer on the loose doesn't exactly help matters, _Dean thought to himself. He flinched; remembering that Sam was out there at that very moment, alone. He knew that the kid could handle himself in a fight, but they still didn't know _what_ they were dealing with yet. Dean had his suspicions were human rather than the other, but he couldn't know for certain until he did more digging. And that was why he was at the morgue. Despite how unbelievably uncomfortable he felt in morgues, he had to examine the corpse. Just like a doctor or detective would do he had to search for wounds, missing body parts—Dean flinched uncomfortably at that thought—and anything else that may determine the cause of death. Unlike a doctor of detective he had also had to check for occult symbols, sulfur and anything else that fell under the same 'miscellaneous and largely funky' category.

When he reached the large double doors, that he knew led the spacious room where they kept the corpses that either still needed to be examined or that had but still needed to be claimed, Dean waited a few minutes before storming in. Once those few minutes had passed, he tried the lock."Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. He reached into his jeans pocket and fished for a paperclip—that ever since he had been handcuffed to a police officers car two years ago—which he kept on him. Due to the silence even the gentlest of sounds would be stridently heard. Dean frowned when the usual soft click, which gave him the indication that the lock had been successfully picked, had sounded like a fog horn. He gritted his teeth nervously. _I hope no one heard that, _he silently prayed before watchfully pressing his way through the double doors.

Due to the loud noises he had already made, from now on he wanted to draw as little attention to his break in as possible; so Dean decided to leave the main lights off. The spacious room was silent, and would be pitch black if it weren't for the glittering reflections from the steel trays. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his stance. If he had thought the morgue halls had freaked him out, it was nothing compared to how he was feeling at that moment. _Morgues, _Dean thought with yet another shudder. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny flashlight—just so that he could actually see what he was looking at. He moved hastily and hesitantly toward the center of the room; toward several long steel tables that were covered with graying sheets.

He hesitated before lifting the first sheet. Dean was never usually squeamish when it came to dead corpses, but after reading what the report had said about the state of the victim's body he was feeling mighty uncomfortable. _I'm glad Sam's not here, _he thankfully thought. If Sam were there he would make fun of Dean for sure. Dean scowled at the idea but he knew when his brother made comments he never actually meant anything by them. It was just like when Dean made sarcastic comments…although most had to truth to them, on some level.

After several long minutes of hesitation, Dean finally lifted the sheet up just enough to reveal the identity of the corpse that lay on the cold metal table underneath. _Well._ "Unless this Bethany chick was an _extreme_ Britney Spears fan, I doubt this is her," he muttered as he stared down at the colourless face of a middle-aged, bald, and double-chinned man. He briskly placed the sheet back down and then swiftly moved on to the next table.

This time, before even lifting the sheet fully, Dean checked the details on the tag that was tied loosely around the each of the corpse's right toes. "Bingo!" He moved over to the front of what was the fourth table. He could several deep breaths of the chilling night air. He felt nervous, because unlike the other sheets this seemed to be stained in dried blood. Dean crinkled his nose. He knew that whatever was waiting for him, underneath the covers, would not be an appealing sight.

* * *

Veronica Cammenti had taken up a job at the town morgue—not only because she had wanted to earn enough money so that she could finish college, but also because her dream involved becoming a medical surgeon and according to almost all her professors it was a great way to earn experience, even if it wasn't in the desired field of the medical area that she hoped to one day pursue. Granted she did not make much money there, and not only did the place give her the creeps but it had the habit of scaring off most her friends and potential boyfriends. Veronica knew she was attractive. Her thick chocolate hair with natural caramel highlights got her a lot of attention, her Italian features, and her slender frame. Never in her entire life had she had a problem finding a boyfriend, but now, the fact that she worked the night shifts in a morgue had caused her love life and social life to suffer. Veronica let out a heavy sigh. _Well, _she thought rather calmly. _I guess one can not expect to have everything in life. _

Brains came before beauty: was what her mother had stated when Veronica at sixteen had insisted that she wanted to drop out of school to pursue her then-dream of becoming a model. But for Veronica family came first, and her parents had told her that they wanted her to pursue a career that would see her past the age of twenty-five.

One would rarely ever expect to find a young woman like Veronica Cammenti to be spending a large amount of her free time—that really could have been spent partying—in the library, but she had an over five thousand word essay due tomorrow and, like everything, she had left the research and typing until the night before.

When she left the library, a chilling breeze had spring up, Veronica shivered. She walked along the long and deserted pathways. Veronica kept glancing around her; nervously looking from one direction to the other. Each time she heard so much as the snap of a twig or the rustle of tree branches it caused her skin to crawl. She shivered once again, although this time it was due to the eerie silence that surrounded her. Veronica wrapped her arms around her slim waist more for comfort rather than warmth.

Veronica wrinkled her nose. Since leaving the library an awful odor had followed her. At first she had thought it was her, but after spraying almost an entire can of deodorant on her she had known that it was something. It smelt like something died either that when someone opened a fridge and was greeted with the stench of expired meat. Veronica cringed. It reminded her of the appalling reek dead people smelled of after their bodies had decayed for a week or so. It was awful, and again Veronica trusted the smell was not her own.

She turned another corner. Her heart beat steadily increased when her eyes caught sight of the cemetery that had supposedly been there before any buildings had been built. Veronica shuddered. She had hugged herself so firm now that her long manicured fingernails dug painfully in the flesh on her sides. She winced, but still did not release her grip. Veronica could deal with the numb pain, and at least it kept her from thinking about that creepy-as cemetery. Whoever had thought it had been a great idea to build a college campus on top of someone's gravesite was an idiot. She doubted that hadn't even seen a single horror film in their lives. The mention of horror films brought her back to her own situation at that moment; walking alone at night, and passing a graveyard. "Stop being stupid," she told herself firmly. "This isn't a movie. It's reality." Besides the only characters that seemed to get hacked up those movies was the typical naïve blonde while running for her dear life in red lingerie.

So consumed in her own thoughts and fears, Veronica didn't even hear anyone walk up behind her.

"Cold?" the stranger asked.

Heart pounding, she turned to see a stranger staring back at her. She squinted her eyes; trying to make out their face. But it hadn't been much use; as their face was not even visible under a black hooded jacket they had chose it wear. Veronica stared at the stranger whose entire outfit was made up of nothing but black; black jumper, jeans, shoes, and probably black hair and eyeliner—though those last two had been just a guess. _Geez who died, _she thought ironically. From the build of the stranger, and the deep voice as a dead giveaway, he appeared to be male.

Veronica hadn't even answered the stranger's question, though he didn't seem to mind. She had stopped walking. She stood facing him, and her nose immediately crinkled again when the stranger came closer. _At least now I know where that reek had come from, _she thought. Wait a minute.

"You've been following me?" she snapped, her eyes glared.

Even though she could not see his face Veronica knew the guy was grinning. "Do you want my jacket?" he asked, not even listening to a single word she had just said.

Veronica scowled. "No," she retorted harshly. "What I want is for you to leave me alone. And I've got two tips for you: don't follow people, and the gothic look not doing your complexion any favors." Before Veronica had a chance to turn on her Jimmy Choo heels and get the heck out of there, the stranger had reached forward and clasped her wrist firmly in his grip.

She gritted her teeth. "What kind of a _freak _are you?" she shrilled. She pulled her wrist successfully out of the stranger's hold.

The stranger chuckled. "Funny," he said dryly. "As I seem to recall you said the exact same thing to me only—let's see—a _week ago_."

Veronica furrowed her brow. She didn't know what he was talking about. She had never laid eyes on this guy in her life. Even though she could not see his face she would have remembered his eerily 'stalk-me-much' ways and voice. Veronica seemed to have a knack at remembering people she tried to avoid, if possible. There was something about the stranger that deeply unsettled her. The way he talked in a hush whisper and every word seemed somewhat rehearsed. The way he slowly and carefully edged around her—like a shark that was about ready to take its prey—caused her skin to crawl.

"You know what? I have to go. It's been really nice to…err…meet you," she told him.

Fury flashed in his eyes and his nostrils began to flare. He stared at her in the deepest loathing, though Veronica had no idea what she had done to make him hate her so much.

"Go. I think not," he injected coldly. "You're going to stay here. In fact you're going to stay here for eternity under this very earth. Your flesh will rot, your bones will snap, and the earth's creatures will feast on your intestines."

She didn't know what he meant, but she understood that she needed to do something to protect himself. She began to inch away from him. "Listen, I've got to go." Her tone had been full of nothing but fear.

Again, he was grinning—she was certain of it. The stranger laughed cruelly. "You're not going anywhere, princess," he began, coming toward her as she kept moving away. "It's not just you. It's all of you. You think you can all ignore me, treat me as if I'm nothing more than squished insect between your toes. I_ hate_ you, the lot of you. And killing you, carving you up, is going to bring me so much joy."

Veronica opened her mouth to scream, but no words had seemed to come out. The stranger struck her hard in the jaw, knocking her to the ground. She groaned the instant her body had made firm contact with the cement. Veronica looked tearfully up at the stranger. A pleading looked was etched into her eyes and features. "Please," she begged. "I didn't do anything." "How can you do…" she began, but her voice trailed off. The stranger now had his pallid fingers fastened around the dark handle of a butcher's knife. "Don't do this." She cried. "Please. You don't want to do this."

The knife's blade shun brightly in the moonlight. She wanted to scream when she saw the blade coming at her. But her throat and body were paralyzed by fear. The stranger sneered. "Say your prayers, you uptight whore…"

Veronica screamed, though it wasn't due to the knife. The sound of a gun being fired had startled both her, and the stranger. He cried out in pain, gripping firmly onto his now bleeding shoulder. He glanced around to see where the shot had been fired from—as did she—and then took off sprinting in the other direction. Her heart hammered against her chest. "Thank you," she breathed, relieved.

"Are you okay," a young man's voice asked her.

She nodded. She looked up and saw kind light brown eyes staring caringly back at her. The young man offered her a hand, but she hesitated. She had trusted one to many strangers tonight. "I'm fine, thank you," she replied, and began to stand on her own. When she was back on two feet her eyes immediately trailed to what the young man was holding—a handgun. She gasped. "You're not…are you…you're not with that guy, are you." Veronica desperately hoped not, because this guy was hot. She gazed from his tall and buff physic, to his dark brown hair, and finally back to those sympathetic brown eyes.

"I'm not," the young man reassured her, along with a grin. "I just…" he trailed off, and glanced quickly at the gun he was still holding. "I'm a police officer."

Veronica breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god," she muttered. "And here I was thinking our law enforcement was utterly useless."

"Did you know that man?"

Veronica shook her head. "No. He said he knew me, though. He mentioned something about how I did something, how we all did something. I don't know if it was just rambling…but the guy was serious nut case."

The young man nodded as if to indicate that he understood. She could tell that he wanted to run off after the stranger by the way he kept glancing back in the direction the killer had taken off in. "Listen. I'll walk you back to your dorm just to make sure you're safe," he offered. "And word of the wise; don't go venturing out here by yourself at night. It's not safe, ever."

Veronica nodded in response. "Thanks." She felt relieved that he had saved her life and offered to walk her home, but despite how cute he was—after those few terrifying moments with that stranger—Veronica doubted that she could never trust anyone, _ever_ _again_.


End file.
